


the perfect medium

by 3minswriting



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, M/M, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3minswriting/pseuds/3minswriting
Summary: Dongho paints the feelings he can't share.and Minhyun?He sings.
Relationships: Hwang Minhyun/Kang Dongho | Baekho
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	the perfect medium

**Author's Note:**

> welp here it is, my first ever baekmin.
> 
> 1 down, 561 to go.

It starts off with one line. Sometimes a dot, other times a sharp dash, but most often he begins with a fluid stroke that starts thick as the breath that gets caught in his throat whenever _he_ walks into the room, tapers away like his awkward conversation when _he_ casually runs an affectionate brush of fingertips over a trembling wrist, and then the line which started it all is joined by two more, three, dozens, until Dongho’s paintbrush has mapped out a world he’s explored only in fantasy; a canvas slick with glistening colour reflecting glistening eyes, a curve of a secretive smile, a whisper of curls in dyed auburn hair tickling a pale nape begging to be kissed and-

“What are you painting?” Minhyun tries to peer over his shoulder.

 _You_ , Dongho almost says, but hides instead the canvas behind a cloth; the truth behind a flustered smile. 

“You never let me see.” Minhyun pouts, weaving around in an attempt to sneak beyond the obstructions Dongho throws up.

 _Because it won’t compare to what you see in the mirror._ “No way, it’s not finished yet.”

“They’re never finished, why can’t you-“ A dodge. Dongho mirrors to block him. “ –just” A low duck, and he almost stumbles back into the stand and knocks the painting clean off its perch. Dongho’s hand intercepts Minhyun’s from grabbing at the cover, which is now little more than a threadbare mask when the other is towering over him this close. The sharp gaze steals Dongho’s breath away. Somehow it’s worse that Minhyun doesn’t seem interested in looking at the concealed painting anymore but instead at overheated cheeks and wide golden brown eyes, as if the image in front of him is more worth memorising.

That would be nonsense though – Dongho is the one who observes, transcribing his feelings with ink, graphite, paints, splashing a canvas with that which consumes his entire focus: love, and the man in front of him to whom the former belongs. Minhyun is not the observant type – he’s the one who expresses through words, through beautiful vocals and soul-wrenching lyrics. So what it means that the next words he speaks come out no louder than a whisper (is it because they’re almost nose to nose now, Dongho wonders, surpressing a shiver) as Minhyun leans in closer, Dongho doesn’t know. The effect that tempting tone has on him, however, is all too familiar.

“-show me?”

Bravado claps back even though Dongho’s racing heartbeat nearly makes him stutter. “No way, not before it’s done.”

Minhyun narrows his eyes and for a moment Dongho thinks this might be it, he might push until he gets his way and sees the painting – one belonging to a collection that could never be finished because how could they when each were a snapshot of a love story beginning from when they first met and no happy ending, no real ending at all – but then broad shoulders drop and the mischevious smile returns. Minhyun takes a step back, hand falling to Dongho’s wrist to give it a gentle squeeze. 

“You’ve been saying that for years, Dongho-ya. How long are you going to make me wait for?” 

_As long as it takes for me to get over you._ “Forever, if you keep hassling me.” Dongho sticks out his chin.

Minhyun chuckles at the defiance, shaking his head before breathing a heavy sigh. Like he’s disappointed, but it’s just a painting, Dongho thinks, and tries to fight away the sinking feeling in his stomach when his best friend’s smile begins to fade. “Fine. _Fine_. You’re lucky I’m a patient guy.” 

Before Dongho can scoff – the softest huff in preparation to rip into the playful banter that settles so easily between them, a safe zone where he can pretend what he feels doesn’t go beyond friendship – and argue Minhyun is anything _but_ patient and he knows this because he’s seen him waiting in queues for coffee he takes a sip of _every time_ only to pass to him with a gag, for audition callbacks, to then emerge from the stage wings to sing his heart out to a rapt audience and how he bounces on the balls of his feet and _whines_ right up to the moment of truth-

-and it starts with one line. A fluid motion forward that jerks into a dotted press of chaste lips against lips, thickens into a lingering touch against Dongho’s hip, and tapers off as Minhyun pulls back with a grin that really shouldn’t be as knowing as it is. 

“Yeah ok maybe not _that_ patient.” Minhyun admits, having the audacity to wink after adding, “Forever’s a long time, but if I guess if it’s for you I’ll wait.” 

Dongho barely manages to snap back to reality before _he_ can walk away, but he does. “Hey!” His hand circles snug around Minhyun’s wrist to tug him in closer.

A soft whisper (they’re nose to nose now) escapes fumbling lips. “I’ll..I can..show you.” Dongho promises, shutting his eyes and tilting up his chin. He doesn’t need to keep them open; he’s drawn Minhyun’s indulgent smirk, sketched those lips hundreds of times in the name of (love) study that they’ve haunted his dreams waking and asleep. He gets a peck on the forehead instead.

“Maybe later.” Minhyun teases when Dongho’s eyes flutter open.

For a few seconds Dongho can’t react – he manages a growl after Minhyun’s already escaping his hold and chases after him, breathless with excitement and frustration even as his friend-boyfriend-lover? (what even were they now? Dongho wonders for two seconds before he realises he doesn’t care as long as it still means _‘together’_ ) laughs at him.

“Now who’s being impatient?”

“Fine, if you don’t want to see it I won’t show you!” Dongho huffs.

His crossed arms still unfold as easily as Minhyun steps his way back into them, tugs their bodies together. “It’s not my own face I want to see up close, Dongho-ya.” 

“W-what are you talking about?” The space between his heart and lungs shrinks. That means-- 

“I’ve seen your paintings.” Minhyun’s fingers trace up Dongho’s jaw (hanging open, lips parted, front teeth showing but no words, nothing escapes except a red flush crawling up his cheeks). “And they’re not the real masterpiece.”

Because the whole time Dongho has been painting, drawing, and filling every inch of his gaze with _Minhyun, Minhyun, Minhyun I love--_

\--Minhyun has been filling breves, quavers, and crochets with 

_Dongho, Dongho, Dongho you idiot I love—_

and for years he’s been singing songs Dongho was too deaf to hear. Sweating under hot stage lights afraid that the pair of golden eyes on him might _finally_ wander to someone else, waiting in endless queues for coffee he hated just to pick up an Americano for his sleepy best friend, wringing his hands for callbacks to performances because he wanted to get up on stage _every single stage one day the biggest in all of South Korea_ and sing his heart out to the one person it belonged to; Minhyun is not a patient man, but for Dongho he’s learned to be.

He’s waited. He’s wanted. And now that Minhyun sees he finally has not only Dongho’s golden gaze but his ears are pricked like a kitten hearing birdsong teasingly close to the open window, he’s hopeful his best friend-boyfriend-lover? will finally hear his song:

It starts with one line. Sometimes a melody hook, other times straight into verse, but most often Minhyun begins with a sustained note that starts thick as the tension in his body whenever _he_ looks his way, stammers into an awkward vibrato when _he_ cutely smiles at him so bright those eyes crinkle up into crescents, and then the line which started it all is joined by two more, three, dozens, until Minhyun’s vocal chords breathily recite emotions that he’s discovered only kept flourishing over the years; a song pitched with beamed shoulders sliding into a low register of a perfect s-line, with murmurs of black ink just begging to be kissed and

“What are you looking at?” Dongho’s golden skin is flushed red, not as red as his lips worried between his teeth. Minhyun intends to cure them of their worry.

“You.” Minhyun replies. “I love you.” 

“O-oh.” If anything, Dongho becomes redder and pushes at Minhyun’s chest in an awkward tug but he’s also grinning; his golden eyes are starting to take after the quarter moon as he tries to speak.

Minhyun cuts him off, grabbing a hold of his wrist and he can’t help but grin too. “-I’m not finished yet.”

One painting becomes hundreds. One song becomes thousands. And finally, one pair becomes a single completed piece, made entirely with the perfect medium: love.

**Author's Note:**

> twt @3minswriting for more baekho fic nonsense


End file.
